


May the Fourth Be With You

by Undercover_Royalty



Category: Avengers: Infinity War (2018), Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man: Homecoming (2017)
Genre: Based on a heacannon, Gen, In that weird interim, My thoughts on post-infinity war society, Post-Infinity War, Star Wars - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-09
Updated: 2018-10-09
Packaged: 2019-07-28 16:58:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,550
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16245938
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Undercover_Royalty/pseuds/Undercover_Royalty
Summary: Peter’s funeral is on May the 4th.Ned is... trying to cope.





	May the Fourth Be With You

**Author's Note:**

> Hey everyone!  
> So, firstly, this is based on a headcannon I posted on my Tumblr (@intergalactic-kindness). Other than that, I have no idea where it came from, why today, I honestly don’t know. Yikes.  
> Sadly, there’s no Tony in this fic! I couldn’t figure out how to work him in without taking the focus off the others in Peter’s inner circle— poor Tony has a lot of baggage related to this, after all. 
> 
> Also, Post-Infinity War society fascinates me, so hit me up with any ideas you may have on it! Thanks for reading!

Peter’s funeral is on May the 4th. 

Ned wants to say it’s wrong, that it shouldn’t be today— any day but today, for God’s sakes, why was it now, even his own _birthday_ would have been better. 

But he keeps silent because May is grieving and today is the only day she could get for the church Ben is buried. Ned knows the last thing she needs is for him to remind her that today is their day, their silly little inside-joke day, the day they dig neatly hung-up Jedi robes from the back of their closets and watch as much Star Wars as they can before somebody inevitably passes out from a food coma, exhaustion, or a mixture of both. He doesn’t remind her about how they always race to offer well-wishes to everybody on the AcaDec team and how Michelle had even agreed to keep an official tally this year, back before— before. 

He especially doesn’t remind her, because she already knows. 

She meets him at the door, him in a rented suit that hangs awkwardly on his frame and her in a funeral dress so new he suspected it had come as an unwanted gift. She hugs him tightly, like a son, and Ned nearly breaks down right there, managing to hold back only because she is. 

“I’m sorry, Ned.” she murmurs, gently, “I—I know today is a special day.” 

He looks up at her with tears in his eyes, feels her press a slip of paper into his hand. 

“He...” she trails off, sniffs and adjusts her posture, “He got these ages ago. They were meant to be a surprise.” 

Ned looks down, and sees that he’s holding a print-out for movie tickets. 

_Smile! You’re going to the movies!_

Your ticket information:  
Solo: A Star Wars Story (7:30 p.m)  
2 tickets  
Seats E5, E6 

And beneath this, Peter has drawn arrows from the seats, down to a crude little drawing of the two of them— him in a Spider-Man mask, in E5. and Ned with a lightsaber in his stick-figured hand, in E6 

Beneath Ned’s, a bonus note awaits:  
I’ll let you have the middle seat this time. May the 4th be with you, dude. 

Ned doesn’t know how he manages to make it down to the car. May keeps a hand on his shoulder, though be it to steady herself or him, he’ll never know. His mother takes one look at him and immediately switches to the driver’s side, letting him sit in the back as May takes the front. He can always get his permit hours later, he supposes. 

The funeral has to be short. It’s just the way of things, these days. Government ordinance even maintains that there must be an official timer, seated in the back. She looks respectful enough with her eyes trained to her lap, almost reverent as the funeral procession goes by. But in her clasped hands, Ned catches the glow of a stopwatch. He’s angry, but it’s a tired sort of anger, one that slowly slips through his hands like sand. 

The eulogy comes around. May takes a steadying breath and stands up in a practiced motion. She trudges up to the podium, stiff and worn, and looks out across a sea of eclectic faces— the AcaDec team, Mr. Delmar and his family, some people from their apartment complex, an old Dominican lady who nobody really knows but no one wants to kick out— and suddenly, her jaw tightens, and she doesn’t speak. She stands there, under the church podium light and God only knows what she’s thinking about, but Ned imagines it has something to do with two years ago, in this place, where everything was almost the same, except that time, Peter sat alone in the front row and shrugged off anyone who tried to put a hand on his shoulder. 

It’s so dead quiet that everyone hears a few seconds wherein that God-awful timer goes off— a shrill chirp that the woman frantically tries to silence, looking around with drooping, guilty eyes. May looks like the noise has pushed her from her reprieve, but before she can make any inclination of moving, MJ has stood up and crosses over, firmly taking the woman by the arm and guiding her out the door. She closes it behind her, quietly returns to her seat, and gives May the barest of nods. 

There are a few more seconds of silence, and then May, in a hoarse, soft voice, finally speaks. 

“I can’t put him into words.” she offers, quietly, “He was... more than us. Ben and me. And we knew that, and we knew... we knew he’d do wonderful things, someday.” 

She pauses, takes another of those long, steadying breaths. 

“But now... now he doesn’t get that chance.” she explains, before her demeanor changes, sounding hurried, “And.. and now I don’t know what to do.” 

She hesitates for a second more, eyes fixed on the door, then grabs her unused notes and steps down from the platform, quietly returning to the front row. 

Ned turns to look, as do others. 

There’s another family waiting there, a mother and two small daughters. The girls are on tip-toe, looking in with wide, curious eyes, even as the mother attempts to corral them with a smooth, black urn clutched to her chest. A shadow of a man waits behind them, clutching a stopwatch. 

The preacher gives a few short remarks about the ephemeral nature of life, the tragedy of loosing one so young but the hope of salvation that awaits us on the other side. But it’s practiced, honed from days of repetition and steeped in the exhaustion of the days to come. They process out, and the new family has slipped in, even before the door is closed. 

They are only allowed a white cross. As there is no body to bury, limited space, and high demand what’s the use of a large, hulking tombstone? Graveyard slots are more expensive than real estate these days. 

So, as they fan in a protective half-circle, May plants Peter’s government-issue white cross next to her husband’s grave. She steps back, and Ned notes the even, black calligraphy that spells his name. There is scarcely even room for the dates of his life. A gust of wind bustles past and the cross tilts sideways. 

They manage to make it into the car, Ned and his mom and May before she starts crying. They stay there, May shaking with silent tears, until a majority of people have left, and then May gets back out, heading back into the graveyard with singular intent. 

She fixes the cross, ripping up the grass beneath it, forces it deep into the ground until it stands tall, and proud and can give her nephew the dignity he deserves. And even then, she stays a few minutes more, ensuring, arranging the flowers over the ripped-up dirt, making everything as neat as it can be. 

Before they leave, she skims her fingers over the top of Peters’s cross, and the edge of Ben’s grave. She takes a long breath, then turns her back to them. 

“Okay.” she tells Ned’s mother, and it’s the biggest lie he’s ever heard. 

They drop her off home, make sure she’s got a casserole for the evening. And then, on the way back to their apartment, it’s Ned’s turn to grieve. They end up having to pull into a parking garage, his mother paying ten dollars all so she can hold him and tell him how strong he‘s been and how proud she is of him. 

They make it home, and he asks if he can go out. His mother is decidedly worried, but he begs, shows her his fully-charged phone, turns on his GPS and does some quick mental math, promising to be home by 10:00 at the absolute latest. Some combination of that has him out the door by 6:30, a Jedi robe shoved in his backpack and a piece of paper clutched tightly in his hand. 

“Where is the other member of your party?” the woman at the ticket counter asks, cat-eye glasses slipping down her nose. Her eyebrow raises at the sight of the drawings. 

“He’ll be here.” Ned says, firmly, and takes the paper back, folding it carefully and putting it away. 

He steps into the dark theater, finds the row, and gently pushes past a few people before seating himself in E6. He pulls out his Jedi robe, quietly, and slips it on. He places a LEGO figure of Luke on his armrest and another LEGO figure of Han on E5s. 

“Hey, man, would you mind if I—?” a man asks as the lights dim, eyeing E5 greedily. 

“Yeah.” Ned deadpans with a glare. 

The man raises his hands in confused surrender, but relents, nonetheless. 

As the previews drone on, Ned knows he’ll probably have to see the movie again if he even cares about the story. This time, he isn’t here to analyze the plot, to critique the new characters or see how many continuity errors he can find. 

This time, he’s here for a friend. 

“May the force be with you, Peter.” he whispers, to himself, just as the title lights up the screen.


End file.
